


Summer Days

by ScienceGeeky



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fluffy as hell, I'm Sorry, M/M, Summer Camp, giftfic, i don't know what im doing, shitty stereotypical AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-16 12:35:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1347685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScienceGeeky/pseuds/ScienceGeeky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summer camp AU in which things are quite nice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer Days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SlytherinPirate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlytherinPirate/gifts).



> Written as a thank-you to Slytherinpirate, my wonderful moirail, for writing some stuff for my long-term project.

Summer camp. It wasn’t your idea, oh no. It was not your idea to get shipped up here to some camp in Wisconsin with a variety of friends and siblings because your father was running out of patience with you. 

So here you are, on a hot, sticky, unpleasant bus, with a sweating cup of lemonade from Subway and a suitcase to last you two and a half months. This camp must be cheap, because your father couldn’t normally afford a weekend for the family out of town. 

Your brother, Karkat, shouts across the bus, “FUCKING DAMMIT SOLLUX, GIVE THAT SHIT BACK!” This earns him a very stern talking-to by one of the senior counselors. Good thing, too. He needs to keep his mouth under control. 

Your friends, all eleven of them (though some aren’t so much your friends as people you tolerate), are junior counselors. You’ve been assigned to a section of tents for nine-year-old boys called Riverbrook. Your brother is staying one section over, in Pine Oaks. 

The bus screeches to a stop in a parking lot made of gravel and the twenty-four of you, plus a few random others who had the misfortune to be on the same bus as your unruly crowd of friends (and your brother’s friends, you suppose). The counselors herd you all to the main hall, where everyone is directed to their sections. You split from your friends who are girls and head to the boy’s side of camp. 

Once you’ve unrolled your sleeping bag on your chosen bunk and shoved your suitcase under said bunk, you open a book on World War II written by someone whose name has PhD at the end of it. 

You’re a chapter in when there’s a weight next to you on the poorly maintained spring mattress all summer camps have.   
“Hey there, Vantas,” a familiar voice says. 

“Hello, Cronus,” you say. You try to make your voice sound cold, but it doesn’t work. It never works. 

“So. You’re JC for Riverbrook?”

“Yes.” 

“Hey, funny. Me too.” Your stomach does a backflip. You didn’t expect that.

“Wanna go check out the girl’s side?”

“No. That’s against the rules. And not to mention--” You’re about to keep going when Cronus rolls his eyes. 

“Damn, did you think I was serious?” 

You’re a bit taken aback. You did think he was serious. Your brother regularly tells you that you wouldn’t recognize a joke if it was slapping you with a textbook. (Except he uses more expletives.) 

“Lighten up, Vantas. We’ve got dinner in a bit.” He stand and stretches and you’re not staring. “C’mon.”

You stand up, mute for once, and follow him to the dining hall. 

Someone states all the rules at dinner in a very stern manner. You’re next to Cronus, of course, and he smirks when the rule about going on the “other side” (meaning the opposite gender) is against the rules. You see two possible reasons for this and one makes your stomach do more gymnastics. You feel distinctly sick and you don’t eat much at dinner. 

That night, the both of you have the night off. The senior counselors take the kids you’re stuck with--assigned to--down to the lake to let off steam. You pick up your book again and you’re reading when Cronus plops down next to you again. “Hey, Vantas. Wanna hear some of the best music ever written?” He stammers his v’s, as usual. 

“Portable music players aren’t allowed it camp,” you say automatically.

“Oh, don’t be so uptight. Here.” You, against all common sense, stick it in your left ear. He’s to the right of you and now his head is right next to yours and wow, this is actually good music. You didn’t expect that. 

He sighs and stretches. “I’m tired as hell,” he says. “Wouldja mind if I passed out here?”

“N-No,” you stammer. He leans back against the wall and closes his eyes. You’re forced to lean back with him, still holding your book. He’s smiling a little, looking very peaceful. You feel your face heating up and you’re grateful it’s getting dark out. 

The music and the rhythmic breathing of the person next to you make you drowsy, too. Nothing seems more tempting than resting your head on Cronus’s shoulder and drifting off to sleep. 

Screw it. You’re exhausted. 

You (very, very slowly) lean your head over and rest it on his shoulder. He doesn’t stir. You close your eyes and rest your book on your lap. The music is still playing and it sounds like a lullaby. 

You drift off with your head on Cronus’s shoulder and you sleep the whole night through.


End file.
